The cycle home

“Beeep!”

The piercing sound of the car horn was followed by a startled “oh shit!” that came from a bundled up cyclist in a mismatched combination of indigo blue hat and chocolate brown coat. To make matters worse, the bicycle was bright green.

The bicycle swerved to the right, then to the left. It paused for a second, as if deciding which way it wanted to go, before it crashed onto the pavement like a bull at the hand of a matador.

I very nearly crashed with it. Stupid cars. Stupid drivers. Stupid, stupid, horrible, I hate them.

Picture me hunched over the slain bicycle. Straining to lift the heavy beast by its horns. Relief. Maybe. On the road once again.

It occurred to me, for the briefest moment, that perhaps I should not be daydreaming while cycling from work in the rush hour. Not while navigating the roundabout, at least.

The night air is frigid and the road is frozen. Little crystals of ice glisten in the yellow artificial light. Cars rush past me as if I don’t exist. I am constantly in danger of being flattened, knocked over, annihilated. Cars are mean. Or is that the drivers? The cars are big and fast. It’s exhausting trying to keep pace with them. I can never do it but I can’t stop myself from trying. They don’t accelerate very well so I can be in the lead sometimes, leaving the traffic lights. Some drivers are really mean and drive very close to me after that, as if to make up for losing at the lights.

I pay attention to the road very closely from now on, the little ball of fear in my gut expanding to barrel size. It’s bigger than me now. It will get hit by the next passing truck.

“Whoooosh” the car zooms past way too close for comfort.

“Aaaaa”, the tiny sound of panic escapes my lips. It’s too cold for a bigger sound.

Damn. Didn’t I tell myself not to daydream. It’s just so easy. Too easy. It takes me over before I even know what’s going on. One minute I am thinking clearly about paying attention to where I’m going, the next minute I am almost run over again and I realize I was not paying attention to where I was going. At all.

This whole thing scares me. Lots.

I would have thought I’d be used to it by now. It has been several months now, and I’ve been cycling the same route home every day. I’ve stopped complaining about it at the office. At first, they were sympathetic and made all those friendly noises and said it will get better soon. But it didn’t. And when it was still not any better 2 months later, instead of the friendly noises all I got in response to my wails of protest were scrunched up noses and quick changes of subject.

Some friends.

“Oh shit”

Phew. This one was close. But it’s ok, coz I spotted him in time. I am quite amazed how I managed to manoeuvre so quickly with my frozen fingers. Actually, I don’t think I can feel my left hand at all. Even though I am wearing gloves, my fingers are frozen solid. How can it be so cold? I’ll have to pull the glove off with my teeth and then try and warm the hand in my mouth. Otherwise, it might just fall off. I don’t want to live with a fallen off hand. It would be so unsightly.

Careful now. Bite on the glove, let the hand slip out of it. Unless it’s stuck to the glove? Oh my. That’s a scary thought. I hope it isn’t stuck. The skin could fall off, or chunks of flash even. I’ve seen that on TV when they showed that guy who was lost and almost froze to death. Yikes.

There is nobody cycling behind me or in front of me. There are no traffic lights just yet. I’m on the comfortable stretch, wide cycle path.

Let’s try this, slowly now. Hmm. The taste of leather is not that unpleasant.

Up the camber of the bridge, put all my effort into pedalling. This glove needs to come off, I cannot feel my hand.

           

I probably shouldn’t chew. It might ruin the gloves and I am not too sure I could wear the other pair. They look too small.

Downhill now, I’ll have to break, so putting the hand in the mouth will have to wait. It’s strange, I think my hand feels less cold with the glove off. How odd.

Oh good. I can see the red light is on at the next junction. Plenty of time to fiddle with my appendage.

Slowing down. Squeezing the break handle with the frozen hand is so much fun. Not.

OK, I’ve stopped. Good. Balancing act now. Right leg out, lean against the curb. Right hand holding the handlebar. Left fist in my mouth. Ohhh. It’s so warm. Nice. I can’t fit it all in, my hands are so large, but it’s ok, the fingers are getting warmer. I hope no one is looking at me, not worth thinking about what I must look like with a fist in my mouth.

Oh, Lights are changing. I’ll put the glove back on later.

Fast now. As fast as I can. This junction is large and it takes forever to cross it. No sense in letting some moron with poor concentration knock me over. Almost there.

OK. The easy part of this journey is now officially over. Can’t think now, must concentrate.

“Puff, pant, wheeze, gasp, puff, pant, wheeze, gasp, puff, pant….”